


Harry Potter scenes- other POVs

by Ronshalfeyebrow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: #Fighting, #War, #battles, #harry potter - Freeform, #other pov, #violence, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 09:01:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13232442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ronshalfeyebrow/pseuds/Ronshalfeyebrow
Summary: (all rights to JKR, I don't own harry potter series, bla bla toodle snoot fart)title says it all rlly lmao





	Harry Potter scenes- other POVs

'You have one hour..' the words uttered by the snaky voice of Lord Voldemort echoed inside the heads of every fighter, every man, woman and child.  
Dispose of your dead with dignity. One hour. 

All around her, dead were indeed being brought into what remained of the great hall. Big and small, men, women, even those underage but breaking rules to fight. Remus, Tonks, a boy in Ginny's year, a girl savaged by a werewolf... these were just a few of the dead. Those that still had breath in their bodies were either gathered, weeping, around a loved one, or else standing brokenly. Wounded, mentally and some, physically. Molly knew, deep down, that this battle was the turning point of the war. The make-or-break situation. But at this cost? Death, all around them. But if they won, these dead would not have died in vain. They had to win. Life under the regime of He who must not be named was all levels of unthinkable.

Suddenly, every nerve in her body lit up then shut off, the outside world blurred as her focus honed in solely on the body being carried into the hall by Percy and George. Fred. Fred, Fred, no, her darling boy.. Eyes partially open, the ghost of a laugh still etched on his features, never to be erased. His poor, broken body now lay still and dusty in death, dangling limply like no more than a ragged doll. Her baby, her Freddie, now a corpse to join the ever growing pile. A thousand feelings flooded her bloodstream- anger, hate, doubt, shock, horror, fear, and the most crushing sadness that collapsed her lungs and made her very body close in on itself. In an instant, she was kneeling on the floor beside her son, her tears wetting his face as she clung to him desperately. That face that would never smile, never laugh, never see or hear or cry or speak. Molly knew something like this was bound to happen, of course. She remembered all too clearly the deaths of her brothers, those heroes.The Prewetts- they fought like heroes, but all died in the end. Took six death eaters to finish her darling siblings. And with such a big family in the midst of a war, it would've been a miracle for all of them to get out of this alive. But it had never quite seemed possible, just something barely out of reach, a stark warning perhaps. But now..

Taking a shaky breath in, she looked around her, at her remaining family collapsed, like herself, around the body of their Freddie. Memories flashed in her mind's eye: his song when Harry had been cleared of all charges, the relief when she saw him safe after the world cup, her first time in their shop...A million times she had told him to be quiet. What she wouldn't give to hear one more bit of his joyful racket now. What stood out most in her mind, probably never to be forgotten, was George. The only remaining twin. A half of the rightful whole. She allowed herself to close her eyes for a brief second, let sobs shake her body as she realised that even in her worst nightmares, she had never imagined the twins being separated. She enveloped Georgie in a bone-crushing hug, grief consuming both of them. Would he ever smile again? Would she? Molly didn't know- if felt like she had been faced with a hundred boggarts and dementors, all at once. But there was no patronus, no riddikulus to take it away. Nothing.

Just then, Harry came in. Harry Potter, her non- biological child. Something was happening here, and it was essential that Harry was alive. Everyone knew he was the only one 'born with the powers to vanquish the Dark Lord', which meant the deaths must continue. The poor boy looked how Molly felt- broken, crushed, messed up, the very embodiment of war and trauma. He was so young- only two years younger than her Fred. At the sight of her son's body upon the ground, no breaths rising his shoulders, something seemed to shatter and break in the boy's eyes. Molly knew Harry was not to blame, he was just a boy caught up in the world's expectations, yet a festering, evil part of her could not help but project some blame onto someone. She knew this to be false, yet as she looked at him, the boy so many people had died to protect, she couldn't help but to wonder whether presenting Harry to he who must not be named could bring back her Fred. Turn back time, shield her Fred from the curse that would stop his beating heart, anything. But she knew, really, that this could not happen. Just as she thought this, Harry turned on his heel, and quickly turned back the way he came. What was he up to? What was happening? Molly knew nothing, other than two things: her boy was dead, and she had to protect the others at all costs now. She had outlived her son- a parent's worst nightmare.

Looking around her, she saw her family all around her. These people, that she must protect now. No other child of hers would die. Close by her crouched her loving husband, Arthur- the love of her life, the man with whom she had raised six ginger children with. Bill, scarred and looking around in disbelief. The oldest of the bunch, now protectively stood with his younger siblings ,yet his eyes never leaving his younger brother. Charlie, second youngest, standing horrified in disbelief. Molly gave a half- hearted ghost of a smile as she glimpsed a small dragon figuirine perched on his wand. Bless the darling. Down on the floor, still sobbing horrifically, was Percy. Molly had seen how Fred died- Percy made a joke, and Fred's reaction times slowed. The poor boy was wracked with guilt, desperately clutching his brother while mumbling almost incomprehensible apologies between sobs. It wasn't his fault, but she doubted he would ever learn that. Next to Percy, practically lay on top of his brother, weeping brokenly into his hair, was George. The surviving twin, the only one who, Molly suspected, was more torn apart by the death of Fred than her. Her heartstrigs tore at just the sight of this. Grief, all around her, that a mother's love could not heal. Ron and Ginny stood nearby, barely standing in their pain, Ginny crying into her older brother's shoulder. No, she could not let another one go.

*time skip*

Molly's poor, injured head was barely comprehending what was happening. Harry Potter had just died and come back to life, the Malfoy boy had ran to Harry and away from the death eaters, and the battle was back on.Once again, death and destruction was all around them. Molly feared worse than ever for the lives of what remained of their family, panic rising inside her chest and threatening to bubble over whenever one of her children was out of her sight. Just then, she caught sight of long, ginger hair that could only belong to her youngest, Ginny. Without warning, a flash of green light whizzed past Ginny, missing her by inches and illuminating her dirty, terrified features. What was she even doing here? She wasn't even of age. A fire, blazing hot and rapid inside her, rose up. It ran through her very veins, a swirling anger and viciousness only found in a mother. Remembering how she was too late to save Fred, how he now lay upon the great hall floor like a broken toy, she stepped forward.

The sight of a very mad, very happy Bellatrix LeStrange met her. Deep black hair curled maniacally, like a mane, around her silm, pale head. Huge, black eyes, soulless and lit up at this next duel, slim lips raised up in a huge smile with no joy. Monsters like her, the dark lord's second in command, probable lover, did not deserve joy. So this was who she must take down to protect her young. Bring. It. On. 

"Not my daughter, you bitch." She spoke in a low rumble that reminded her of lava bubbling just below the surface. Ready to explode, erupt. Destroy. She didn't recognise it. It sounded nothing like her.

Wordlessly, fire blazing in her eyes and fuelling her movements, she pushed her youngest behind her. Safe and sound. Once she had done this, protected her youngest (not another one, no one else can die, we've already lost Fred), she looked Lestrange directly in the cold, mad eye. With that, they began to duel. Non- verbally, deadly. There were no calculations, split second decisions, she simply fired whatever was the deadliest, but still forgivable, spell she knew of. Frenzied, mad movements controlled her as she aimed for the heart, the head, anywhere on the body of her enemy. With a start, she realised that the ground around them was starting to crumble, crack, and become slightly hot beneath her worn, aching feet. The power of a mother's love. Just to the right of Bellatrix, she suddenly glanced an orange light. Just enough to remember her Freddie, and fuel her on more. Both women were duelling to kill, but Molly knew she would win. Even if she didn't, she died protecting her child (Fred over her, she was old, she had lived, not another Fred).

Spurred on by this latest, heartbreaking reminder that her child would not spring up from the rubble, she picked her curse. A mixture of a diffindo and a reducto, aimed for the heart. Unflinchingly, she aimed for the heart, and struck. She momentarily felt guilty as her opponent's face changed from reckless happiness to disbelieving shock before she exploded like paper being shredded. However, she then rememberes her Fred being struck down, the unforgivale aimed at a child not even of age. She couldn't let another die. 

Feeling somewhat relieved, she strode back to her family, seizing Ginny in a ferocious hug. The crowd had dissipated now; the war was back on.

 


End file.
